


The Perfect Way to Spend an Autumn Night

by YamBits



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Autumn, Awkward Flirting, Cozy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flirting, Fluff, Fortune Telling, Friendly happy sex, Friendship, Frottage, Light-Hearted, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Quest, Romance, child Pippin, flirty Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-15 21:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14798540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamBits/pseuds/YamBits
Summary: “Always glad to help you get out of trouble,” Sam said, returning the smile. He paused just a moment and added, “Or help get you into trouble. Whichever.” Frodo blinked and snorted.“You? Help get me into trouble? What would your father say?”“My old Gaffer don't need to know everything.”“Oh my. I think I had better keep an eye on you, Sam Gamgee,” Frodo said, meeting Sam's gaze. He'd never teased back and forth with Sam like this and he was finding that it was a lot of fun.Frodo goes out for a relaxed night of fun with Sam and a young Pippin. Spooky stories, a corn maze and drinks by the fire. And a little flirting.





	The Perfect Way to Spend an Autumn Night

Frodo wrapped the blanket around himself tighter and shivered. He contemplated getting up to stir the fire but he was feeling lazy and besides, getting up meant disrupting his warm blanket cocoon, not to mention walking across the icy floor.  
  
His door banged open and Bilbo strode in, brushing leaves of his coat. His cheeks were flushed from his morning walk and his eyes were bright as he turned them on his nephew.  
  
“There you are! Goodness boy, you’ve got it hot in here,” the old hobbit said and frowned, striding across the room, “you’re not taking sick are you?” he asked, raising a hand to Frodo’s forehead, feeling for fever.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Frodo murmured, “It’s just blasted cold.”  
  
“You need to get up and get moving,” Bilbo said withdrawing, his voice determinedly cheerful. Frodo felt like glowering, but he knew better. “Go on, I’ll mistake you for an old gaffer by the fire if you keep this up. Chop us some wood, please.”  
  
“Yes sir,” Frodo groaned and stood up, shivering.  
  
“It will warm you twice!” Bilbo began to familiar old saying. Frodo winced, but Bilbo ignored him and continued, “It warms you the once when you load it on the cart and again when you chop it and... and then again when you burn it? Oh, that’s three times then I suppose. Maybe you just have someone else load it on the cart and then it warms you twice. That’s right isn’t it?”  
  
“According to Gaffer Gamgee,” Frodo agreed.  
  
“Don’t call him Gaffer, lad. It isn’t polite if you’re not family.”  
  
“I’ve heard you call him that.”  
  
“Go chop that wood like I told you,” Bilbo growled. Frodo laughed and shrugged on a worn overcoat hanging on the back of his study chair. “And remember the Tooks will be here by three.”  
  
“I remember. Did you remember to get pear preserves from the Twofoots?”  
  
“Erm,” Bilbo frowned, “no.”  
  
“What about fresh cream? The cream in the icebox is starting to get solid.”  
  
“Er.”  
  
“Would you rather take the Tooks into town for tea? Or shall I go and see if I can find anyone willing to sell me some cream and jam?”  
  
“And pipeweed and cider, please,” Bilbo added. Frodo paused by the door.  
  
“Did you buy anything at market the other day? You were supposed to get everything we would need for the Took’s visit.”  
  
“Don’t be silly. I got everything we need for baking and I brought home all those leeks and potatoes and pumpkins.”  
  
“You were supposed to get a goose,” Frodo said warily as he moved into the hall, Bilbo following behind him.  
  
“I took care of it! Go on!” Bilbo shooed him out. “What are you supposed to get?" He shouted down the hall as Frodo reached the front door.  
  
“Jam, cream, weed, cider!” Frodo recited, raising his voice.  
  
“Oh, and goat cheese,” Bilbo added.  
  
“Bilbo…”  
  
“And chop the wood!”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Frodo said, grabbing a heavy wool coat from the mudroom rack. He felt in the pockets and the reassuring weight of several coins met his fingers.  
  
The Tooks arrived well in time for tea, which evolved into an early dinner, as a continuous stream of dishes arrived fresh from the oven. Bilbo had asked the oldest Gamgee daughter to help him manage the feast, and good thing too. Most of the work was falling to Daisy to manage, as Bilbo would wander off at long intervals to tell exaggerated stories to his guests. Frodo had told him to choose between cooking or entertaining, but Bilbo stubbornly insisted that he could do both.  
  
“It's a poor hobbit that can't prepare a good meal while making his guests feel welcome and appreciated,” Bilbo had huffed and then stepped out the kitchen door, returning to the table of assembled Tooks in the garden, calling, “Paladin, did I ever tell you about the time I escaped Lobelia by pretending to be a scarecrow?” Frodo, still in the kitchen, chuckled and cast a conspiratorial look at Daisy, as he stole one of the pretty little cakes she was preparing. She raised her eyebrows trying to look stern for a moment, before grinning and turning back to her work.  
  
After dinner, as the afternoon light faded, the older hobbits retired inside to the parlor. Frodo was about to follow them in when his young cousin caught his hand and tugged him away.  
  
“Come and see what I found,” Pippin said, pulling at him. Frodo went with him, though not without sparing a thought towards Bag End's candle lit windows. Bilbo was breaking out his finest ales for the occasion.  
They rounded the corner and Frodo spotted a few more Gamgees, gathered around a suspended cauldron in the vegetable patch. The was a small fire under the cauldron and Frodo could smell the faint odor of beeswax.  
  
“They're making candles,” Pippin told him. Frodo smiled.  
  
“Do you want to make a candle?” he asked. Pippin looked up at him and nodded. Though the Gamgees had been ready to stop for the day, Pippin insisted on trying his hand at it. The girls had looked uncomfortable about this until Frodo assured them that he would stay with Pippin and clean up any messes he made, as well as see that the fire was safely out when they were done. May had gone home shortly there after, but Marigold and Sam were still carefully packing away the candles, wick, and unused wax.  
  
Pippin had at first been delighted but now, after the first half hour he was starting to run low on enthusiasm and his chatter was slowly ebbing away. He gazed down into the cauldron of bubbling wax that his wick was trailing down into.  
  
“Up and down, remember?” Frodo prompted him.  
  
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Pippin whispered.  
  
“I thought you wanted to be helpful?” Frodo whispered back.  
  
“It's boring. Isn’t there something else we can do?” the boy asked.  
  
“What did you have in mind?” Frodo asked absently, his thoughts drifting back to Bag End.  
  
“I want to run around a bit. I’ve spent all day sitting still and being good,” Pippin complained. “Don’t you have any bonfire dances or night markets?”  
  
“Sorry, no,” Frodo said with a smile.  
  
“There’s Farmer Dryhollow’s corn maze,” Sam interjected as he passed, carrying a crate of wicks. Frodo turned in surprise and Sam met his eyes, shy at interrupting.  
  
“He’s out past Bywater, isn’t he?” Frodo asked. “I had no idea he was doing a maze this year.”  
  
“Yes sir, most of the Bywater lads and lasses have already been, so it’s a bit trampled.”  
  
“Have you been?” Pippin asked. Sam nodded.  
  
“Aye, Sammy took Mila Dunholm,” Marigold laughed as she passed, her arms full of coated paper they had been using to lay the candles on. Sam spared an unguarded scowl for his sister but turned back quickly to Frodo and Pippin.  
  
“Farmer Dryhollow said as he was planning on keeping it open till the new moon, tomorrow.”  
  
“I want to go, please Frodo?” Pippin begged.  
  
“You won’t get scared will you? It will be quite dark,” Frodo warned. Pippin’s face flushed in peak and he glanced at the Gamgees and then back at Frodo, clearly irritated that Frodo had made him out as a coward in front of them. “Alright! I’m sorry,” Frodo laughed. “Shall we go now?”  
  
“Yes please!” Pippin said, dropping his wick into the cauldron. Sam hissed in dismay but Frodo had already stepped to the side of the cauldron, pulling out his pocket knife.  
  
“Pippin,” he growled in irritation and bent to fish the wick out with the tip of his knife. It was barely long enough but he managed to catch the end of the wick that had not sunk deep into the wax and fished it out, dripping hot wax from the small bulb that was supposed to have been a candle. “That’s it, you go and ask Bilbo if we may go while I clean up here.” Pippin winced, digging his toes in the dirt.  
  
“Uncle Bilbo growls at me when I interrupt,” Pippin said.  
  
“I can clean up here, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. Frodo glanced up, feeling undecided. He had promised he would take care of cleaning up. “Go on, this won’t take me but a few minutes. You want to get going if you’re to have enough time to get through the maze. It’s a rather long one,” he grinned.  
  
“Thank you, Sam. I owe you for this,” Frodo said. Sam only chuckled and shook his head, turning away.  
  
Bilbo was of course amiable about it, and so were Paladin and Esmeralda. They tended to like it anytime someone offered to take Pippin off their hands for an evening. Paladin had even patted his back with a muttered promise of a bottle of whiskey for him if he could keep Pippin out of trouble.  
  
As they strolled down the hill, Pippin paused at the row road, going to the small gated garden of Number One, attracted by Gammer Mudfoot’s goat, which bleated and pushed its head between the fence posts toward them. Pippin took the gesture to mean the goat wanted to be petted and obliged, though Frodo suspected the goat was really looking for something to eat.  
  
“Come on Pip,” Frodo complained, shifting his lantern to his left hand, “you’ve goats at home.”  
  
“But this one is nice,” he said and turned back to the goat, grimacing when he saw that she was trying to eat his cloak. He pulled away but continued petting her. “She’s not like the goats at home. They bite.”  
  
“Goats can’t bite,” Frodo laughed, "They’ve only got bottom teeth."   
  
“That’s not true,” Pippin protested. Frodo turned at the sound of approaching footsteps to see Sam and Marigold, coming from the Hill about to turn onto the Row Road. He tipped his cap to them politely and was about to say good evening when Pippin spotted them and called out,  
  
“Frodo says goats only have one set of teeth on the bottom. That’s not true is it?” Sam and Marigold paused.  
  
“Master Pippin, why don’t you have a look in that goat’s mouth if you want an answer?” Marigold said.  
  
“Oh, leave the poor beast be,” Sam said, “Mr. Frodo’s right, at least every goat I’ve ever seen has only had the one set of teeth. Were you worried she’d bite you?”  
  
“No,” Pippin sulked.  
  
“I thought you two were going to the corn maze,” Marigold said.  
  
“We are, if Pippin won’t stop to pet every beast we encounter,” Frodo said dryly.  
  
“Would you like to come with us?” Pippin asked hopefully. Marigold eyed him warily.  
  
“You’re both welcome, of course,” Frodo added.  
  
“That’s kind sir, but no thank you,” she said, “I’m tired out and don’t fancy a hike to Bywater and back.”  
  
“Sam?” Pippin pleaded. The Gamgee son blinked and shrugged.  
  
“Aye, why not,” he said. Frodo felt himself grinning. He suddenly felt far better about his chances of getting a bottle of Paladin’s whiskey.  
  
They walked down the way toward Hobbiton and then out past the little hovels and holes to the wide road leading toward Bywater. The sun was all but gone, casting a warm orange glow over the countryside. They walked, talking quietly, content to gaze over the rolling green hills capped with red and yellow leafed trees and breathe the crisp air. The temperature was dropping. Frodo noticed that both Pippin and Sam’s cheeks were rosy from the cool but they were all wearing warm coats to keep the chill back.  
  
Frodo had sunk into silence, watching the trees and distant cropland, so that he wasn’t paying much attention to the talk. Pippin had been telling a story about a Tookland cook chasing him because he had accidentally doused a roasting fire and tracked soot through the kitchen. Sam had laughed and egged him on, asking questions as if he were fascinated by the little tale. Frodo had thought to add one of his own mischief filled tales from his days at the Hall, but before he could summon the will to draw himself back into the conversation, Sam began to speak.  
  
“You’d never guess it by how he is today, but my old dad was a hellion when he was a babe,” Sam said and cast a conspiratorial look at Frodo. Frodo’s raised his eyebrows.  
  
“The Gaffer?” he asked and laughed, “no I wouldn’t have guessed that. What did he do?” he added in a low voice, sinking into the close tone Sam was using.  
  
“He told us children once that when he was nine he built a fire inside his gaffer’s living smial and like to have burned the hole out. He ruined a table and rug, afore his gammer smelled the smoke and came in from doing to wash to find him trying to hide the fire under a quilt she’d been working on.”  
  
“Oh!” Pippin gasped, wide-eyed, probably in admiration of the described damage toll.  
  
“It’were very naughty,” Sam said, as if noticing Pippin’s star stuck look, “he was sent to bed with no supper for a week, plus a strapping.” He paused, “but to think of my dad doing something so silly.”  
  
“Maybe he was warning your brothers not to try it,” Frodo chuckled, “Hamson and Hal were a bit of a handful. You’re father used to come up to Bag End and tell Bilbo the most hair-raising stories about them.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“You might have been a bit young to hear them. They weren’t the types of tales fit for a little lad’s ears,” Frodo said. Sam only snorted.  
  
"Is that it?” Pippin asked, walking ahead at the site of corn fields stretching out before them. Down the road a ways there was a fire and a small group of hobbits turning off the road to walk under a wooden post and lentil.  
  
“I think so,” Frodo said. “So, shall we do the maze first, or would you like to sit by the fire and drink cider and roast apples?”  
  
“Maze first,” Pippin crowed.  
  
“Alright,” Frodo said with some reluctance. He strongly suspected there would be a keg of homebrew by the fire as well, and wouldn’t a tall glass of foamy bitter beer be nice. “Sam,” he murmured, “is there beer?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam answered, “there’s always beer. And farmer Dryhallow brews three types in the fall.” He paused, as if gauging if Frodo was truly interested. Frodo peered back at him, very much interested. He wasn’t sure why but Sam had somehow decided that he was a primarily a wine drinker, and while he liked wine with meals he was also enthusiastic about good beer. “Well, this year he’s got a lager, a pilsner, and a sour. That’s usually enough to satisfy the tastes of the West Farthing, even if he has Tooks visiting.”  
  
“What’s that about Tooks?” Frodo asked, amused, glancing at Pippin. Pippin turned and gave them both a reproachful look, probably because they were still keeping a languid pace.  
  
“Oh, no offense, sirs,” Sam said quickly, “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that around here Tooks have a reputation.”  
  
“For liking odd things and requiring a large assortment to satisfy their tastes?” Frodo added.  
  
“Well,” Sam said uncomfortably.  
  
“This Took wants to do the maze before they close down for the season, if it pleases you two!” Pippin huffed.  
“Alright!” Frodo called and picked up the pace. He turned back to Sam and gave him a reassuring smile. “Alright, Sam?” he added.  
  
“Yes sir,” Sam said, relieved.  
  
They entered under the post and lentil frame, and a few hobbits at the fire turned and raised a hand or called out a greeting to Frodo. He nodded politely and waved, even as Pippin grasped his hand and pulled him toward the maze entrance. Frodo paid out three coins to the farmer son taking admission.  
  
“Do we get a map?” Pippin asked. The boy blinked and shook his head.  
  
“No young master, t’would spoil the fun, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“How big is it?” Frodo asked, wary suddenly that he would inevitably end up carrying Pippin by the end of it.  
  
“Eh, ten acres or so. What did it take you the other night Sam? A hour?”  
  
“Aye,” Sam answered.  
  
“Aye, takes about a hour usually, lest you wander a bit.”  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said and turned to the tall stalks waving slightly at the top. They were a good fifteen ells and towered thickly over them as they entered.  
  
“Oh this is fine,” Sam breathed.  
  
“What’s that?” Frodo asked absently as he watched Pippin race ahead.  
  
“When I come last week, it were crowded with every hobbit from ten miles round and the moon was fuller so there was plenty of light. But tonight it’s quiet and dark. Spooky-like, as a corn maze ought to be.”  
  
“I bet you wish it had been like this when you took your lass,” Frodo laughed, “More convenient dark corners.” Sam let out a huffing snort.  
  
“It’s not like that,” he said, a touch embarrassed, “I took Mila Dunholm as a favor to her brother. He asked me to take her out cause she was so down about breaking it off with her Lan Fencup.”  
  
“Oh well, good on you,” Frodo said smiling as Pippin doubled back to them, his eyes wide.  
  
“I don’t know which way,” Pippin huffed. Sam laughed, looking a little contrite when Frodo shot him a look, but seemingly he couldn’t help himself. “Who’s leading?” Pippin asked, stoutly ignoring Sam.  
  
“You are I think,” Frodo said, putting his hands in his pockets. “We follow you, Peregrin, to the end.” Pippin considered this, then shrugged and turned back to the maze.  
  
“Alright, come on then, slowcoaches,” he said. They walked a few minutes in silence, going single file with Pippin in the lead, Frodo behind him and Sam trailing at the end. It was a deeply peaceful place, Frodo thought, even though Pippin was setting a brisk pace for them, Frodo was able to enjoy the quiet rustle of the corn as it was stirred by a wind they were shielded from. Above, the stars were bright and even though there was little moon there was enough light to see by, with the small light from their lantern and the soft starshine above.  
  
“Did you know this field is haunted?” came Sam’s voice, dropped low for effect. Pippin paused and turned to frown at Sam. Frodo glanced back, enjoying this more relaxed version of Sam. When he was in the garden, and even when he came in for tea with Bilbo, Sam was always careful with words, and tended to speak when spoken to and not before.  
  
“It’s not,” Pippin said haughtily.  
  
“You never heard of it, begging your pardon, being from Tookbank, but there was a flood thirty years ago, just down the hill from here. T'was a bad flood, but no-body died except for a clan of Tunnely brothers, who were camping near the Water."  
  
"Yeah?" Pippin asked, trying to sound aloof, but failing. Sam bit his lip a moment, then went on.  
  
"They was a rowdy bunch. They'd steal and throw mud and leave frogs in the pub. So there weren't many who missed them. Problem was, the Tunnely boys didn't stay gone after they died.”  
  
“Frodo,” Pippin whined.  
  
“Hush,” Frodo scolded him.  
  
“About a year after the flood, on a cold winter night," Sam said, his voice shifting into a soft cadence that rose and fell, "folks in the holes around here started hearing a tapping at their windows when it got dark. They would go outside to see who it was a-knocking, but there was never anybody there. Then, when it got colder people started seeing breath fogging on their windows. If they went out to look around, they'd find mud smeared on the fronts of their smials or sometimes they're be frogs, all cold and dead, stretched out on their cobblestones. Then one night as the old gammer Dryhallow, the one as used to live on this farm, was coming back from her knitting club late one afternoon and it was already getting dark, she came on her smial to find it surrounded by dark figures.”  
  
“Sam,” Pippin breathed.  
  
“There were six of them, just as there were six Tunnelly boys who went missing, though she didn’t think of it at the time. No, all she saw when she got closer were bones, but they was standing up, watching her. But none of them had eyes anymore. Well gammer Dryhallow weren’t no coward, she took out her penknife and hollered for them to go, and sure enough they run off into the corn and left her be. And to this day, the Dryhallows see those creatures in the field some nights, but usually they keep well hidden, waiting for some hobbit to venture into the corn so they can surprise them.”  
  
“Sam that’s not true!” Pippin said angrily, and looked to Frodo, “Is it Frodo?”  
  
“I'm not in the habit of questioning Sam,” Frodo said. Pippin drew back, gritting his teeth.  
  
“I’m only telling you what I’ve been told master,” Sam said smiling. Pippin huffed, disgusted and trotted ahead, proving that he wasn’t taking the tale to heart. Frodo chuckled and turned back to Sam.  
  
“That was well told. And quite spooky,” Frodo said, and added in a whisper, “Though you’ll give him nightmares with that sort of talk. You watch, he’ll end up climbing into my bed tonight,” Sam smiled.  
  
“I’m sorry. The tale sort of got away from me.” He paused, “I suppose I owe you a debt then.”  
  
“Hm. I suppose,” Frodo said. They walked on for a while, only very occasionally encountering other hobbits. Frodo tended to pride himself on his sense of direction but he was completely unsure of which way they were heading. When they came to yet another dead end Pippin stopped dead and said a very bad word. Sam gasped but Frodo belted out a laugh before he could stop himself. Pippin turned to him.  
  
“You be leader, Frodo,” he whined. Frodo sobered and passed the lantern to Sam.  
  
“Come here,” he said as he caught the boy, lifting him up. “Look up.” Pippin gazed upwards. “Do you see those three bright stars, there just above the corn?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Follow the line from the top until you see another bright star. Do you see that?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“That star will always point you toward north.”  
  
“Oh,” Pippin murmured. Frodo lowered him back to the ground. “How does that get us through the maze?”  
  
“The entrance where we came in was on the western side of the field,” Frodo said quietly, noting the wind picking up. “The exit was next to the entrance.”  
  
“So we'll need to head west?”  
  
“That's right.”  
  
“If north is that way,” Pippin paused, frowning and stepped to his left, “west is this way.”  
  
“Very good.”  
  
“Alright, let's go,” Pippin trotted off, heading around another corner. Frodo chuckled and took the lantern back from Sam.  
  
“That was well done,” Sam murmured in the quiet air.  
  
“Thank you,” Frodo said, pleased.  
  
“You've a way with children.”  
  
“Hm,” Frodo shook his head, “not really. I laugh whenever he does something bad. You saw. No, I'm sure I'm a terrible influence.” He heard Sam chuckle, but the gardener didn't reply. They walked on a few more minutes, Pippin keeping his head up, watching the stars as they went. When they came to yet another dead end, Frodo was gratified that Pippin didn't wail. Instead he paced back, trying to retrace their steps in his head. Frodo stood still in the dead end, staring up at the stars above. Absently, he reached for one of the ears of corn and twisted it free of the stalk.  
  
“You're not supposed to pick the corn,” Pippin scolded him. Frodo ignored the boy and began peeling the ear. “Frodo...”  
  
“I'm being naughty,” Frodo told him, tearing off the leaves and running his hand down the cob, peeling away the silks. He did this several times, pulling the stubborn silks off the corn. Pippin huffed and wandered away. Frodo lifted his eyes to monitor the boy and caught Sam watching him.  
  
“Are you going to tell on me?” he asked. Sam blinked and shook his head, mute. Frodo glanced down at the cob, frowning. He'd shucked it carelessly, not considering what he'd do with the thing once he'd picked it. He'd look a fool bringing it back to the farmers and he wouldn't pocket it. Sam stepped closer and took it from him, slipping it into his jacket. Frodo frowned at him, slightly dazed by Sam's forwardness. Sam only smiled at him.  
  
“I'll slip it into the Dryhallow's feed bin. Tis feed corn they're growing.”  
  
“You think you're sneaky enough for that?” Frodo teased. Sam laughed.  
  
“Folks don't pay much attention to me. I can slip into all sorts of places.”  
  
“Oh how ominous,” Frodo chuckled, then smiled, meeting Sam's eyes, adding, “thank you. You're keeping me out of trouble and I appreciate that.”  
  
“Always glad to help you get out of trouble,” Sam said, returning the smile. He paused just a moment and added, “Or help get you into trouble. Whichever.” Frodo blinked and snorted.  
  
“You? Help get me into trouble? What would your father say?”  
  
“My old Gaffer don't need to know everything.”  
  
“Oh my. I think I had better keep an eye on you, Sam Gamgee,” Frodo said, meeting Sam's gaze. He'd never teased back and forth with Sam like this and he was finding that it was a lot of fun.  
  
“Maybe you better,” Sam said and winked at him. Frodo blinked at that, then laughed, hurrying along after Pippin.  
  
They had been in the maze for almost half an hour when they came to a rounded clearing among the corn. In the clearing was a set of two benches and on one of them was a small keg with a good supply of cups stacked nearby.  
  
“What's this?” Frodo asked, drawing near.  
  
“Bit of cider for any hobbit wanting a break and a rest from the maze,” Sam said. Pippin gave them an impatient look and pressed on to the far side of the clearing.  
  
“Pippin, come back here,” Frodo told him, “we're taking a rest.”  
  
“We're almost through!”  
  
“No we're not,” Sam said, casting a look at the boy. Pippin sulked but he wasn't cheeky enough to argue with Sam, Frodo noted. They sat together and each took a cup of cider, sipping the cool drink, lit only by the starlight and the dim glow of Frodo's lantern.  
  
“Would you like another story, Pippin?” Frodo asked, trying to make Pippin stop sulking. The boy looked up, slightly alarmed and frowned.  
  
“No thank you,” he said.  
  
“It wouldn't have to be a scary story,” Sam said, “Mr. Frodo knows a lot of stories.”  
  
“No stories,” Pippin said stubbornly.  
  
“Maybe a game?” Frodo suggested.  
  
“No,” Pippin sighed. Frodo smiled, shaking his head and met Sam's gaze. The gardener gave him a smile. “I know,” Pippin said suddenly, “Frodo, read my fortune.” Sam gave him a bewildered glance. Frodo winced.  
  
“I played fortune teller at the last Lithe party in Tookbank,” he explained, slightly embarrassed. Bilbo had volunteered him and before Frodo quite knew what was happening he'd been dressed in a silly costume with a hat made for a big person and found himself in a tent, where he spent the evening pretending he could read palms and see visions in a crystal. “Alright, give me your hand then,” Frodo said, willing to play along. Pippin slid over and put his hand into Frodo's.  
  
“Frodo's fortunes were really good. Not like the others we've had. You could tell they were just making it up.”  
  
“Is that so, master Pippin?” Sam said, failing to keep the smile out of his voice.  
  
“Pippin, you're sticky,” Frodo complained. Pippin took his hand away and licked the spilled cider from the back of his hand. Frodo grimaced but held back anymore complaints as Pippin returned his hand to Frodo's. Frodo turned his hand over, palm up and studied it.  
  
“Hm,” he said, “well I can see here you've got a long life ahead of you.”  
  
“Ha!” Pippin crowed, “and ma-ma is always saying that if I'm not careful I'll end up like great uncle so-and-so who died young and disappointed everyone.”  
  
“Just because I see a long life for you doesn't mean you shouldn't be careful,” Frodo said sternly.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Pippin said impatiently, “what else do you see? Do I get to go on an adventure?”  
  
“Oh yes. There's going to be a lot of adventure in your life.”  
  
“Outside the Shire?” Pippin asked breathlessly.  
  
“Outside the Shire,” Frodo confirmed, “but only when you're old enough,” he added quickly. Pippin sank into silence for a moment.  
  
“Will it be like Uncle Bilbo's adventure?”  
  
“Erm. Yes, some of it,” Frodo said, “I see you meeting Elves and trolls, and...” he squinted, “... and it looks like just maybe... a dragon!” Pippin laughed, delighted.  
  
“Will you come with me on my adventure, Frodo?” Pippin asked, his eyes wide, “or do I have to go alone, like Uncle Bilbo?”  
  
“No, I'll come with you,” Frodo told him.  
  
“Sam too?”  
  
“That's up to Sam.”  
  
“Will you Sam?” Pippin turned.  
  
“Well,” Sam said slowly, “it depends on the time of year, you see. If you can have your adventure in the fall and winter when I can be spared from the garden, then maybe I'll go.”  
  
“Fall it is then,” Pippin said and pulled his hand away, taking up his cup of cider again. “Thank you, Frodo.”  
  
“You're welcome,” Frodo said, sipping his own drink, listening to the quiet night sounds around them. There were crickets and somewhere close he could hear an owl hooting out a eerie call.   
  
“Sir?” Sam said quietly, his voice breaking through the stillness. Frodo turned back.   
  
"Yes?"  
  
“Will you tell my fortune?” he asked. Frodo blinked at him. He'd never have thought Sam would go in for nonsense fortunes. He fixed Sam in a contemplative gaze, half expecting him to blush and say he'd only been joking. But he didn't. He only gazed back, slightly curious. _He's grown into a very handsome young hobbit,_ Frodo thought.   
  
“Alright,” he said amiably and rose, going to sit beside Sam on his bench. Sam grinned and ducked his head, holding his hand out and Frodo took it. His hand was warm and his skin was surprisingly soft for a hobbit who spent his day working with his hands.  
  
“I see gardens,” Frodo began slowly, “the best gardens in the Shire.”  
  
“Gardens, is it?” Sam asked. Frodo felt unbalanced. This was a lot harder than reading Pippin's fortune or even the fortune's of strangers. With strangers he could get away with a few vague proclamations about a handsome husband and round faced babes and wonderful parties and feasts, but with Sam, he didn't want to say anything that felt thoughtless, even if all of this was a game.  
  
“And I see books,” Frodo said quietly as he peered into Sam's palm and ran a finger along the line between his thumb and forefinger.  
  
“Am I to dust Mr. Bilbo's library next week?” Sam asked smiling.  
  
“Nay. I see you writing books. Many books. All of your own stories,” Frodo said. He heard Sam draw in a breath, but the gardener didn't speak. “And I see you meeting Elves. And living with them for a time.”  
  
“Is that so?” Sam asked. He sounded amused.  
  
“Yes,” Frodo said, tracing another line along Sam's hand, “this line here, this shows a long happy life. Yes, I see you at your one hundredth birthday, still very fit.” Sam's mouth quirked into a smile.  
  
“Are you there?”  
  
“Ah, yes,” Frodo said, “I'm making a speech and raising my glass to toast your good health.”  
  
“Does Sam get to fight a dragon?” Pippin piped up. Frodo snickered.  
  
“No dragons for Sam.”  
  
“Thank goodness!” Sam said. Frodo was about to draw away when Sam caught his hand in a gentle clasp. “Thank you," he said and Frodo glanced up, meeting Sam's eyes. Sam paused for a moment and Frodo became very aware of their joined hands. "That was very nice,” Sam added, his voice earnest. Frodo nodded and Sam released his hand.  
  
They resumed their walk, slowly working their way through the maze, until at last Frodo caught sight of firelight, twinkling through the corn. Pippin let out a whoop of triumph and raced out the exit. Frodo and Sam followed more slowly. Frodo spared a glance at Pippin, running around the farm yard, stopping only to accost several of the Twofoot boys and tell them how he'd got through the maze. Frodo chuckled, then stepped out into the darkened field beyond the corn, walking out into the center of the field, trying to get a good look at the stars. The chill wind reached him now that he wasn't sheltered. It was so quiet and calm and the stars above were brilliant, holding him captive in wonder at it all.  
  
“Mr. Frodo?” Sam's voice came quietly from behind. Frodo shifted his gaze down from the stars reluctantly.  
  
“Yes Sam, I'm coming,” Frodo said.  
  
“There's no hurry,” Sam said gently. Frodo blinked and turned to glance at him. He had expected Sam to give him a polite reminder that they had left Pippin.  
  
“There is a hurry,” Frodo said sighing, “we've left Pippin alone for more than a moment. That's an invitation for chaos.” Sam smiled in the dim light and shook his head.  
  
“He was with the Twofoot boys, so he's alright for the moment."  
  
“Hm,” Frodo said. Sam was looking up at the sky.  
  
“It is pretty to look at, isn't it?” he asked, his voice pitched low.  
  
“It is,” Frodo said, returning his gaze, “One of the main reasons I like walking at night is that I get to see the stars brilliant and stretched across the sky like this.”  
  
“Autumn crisp nights are the best for it,” Sam agreed.  
  
“Yes,” Frodo breathed, “the stars seem to burn brightest this time of year. And the chill isn't too hard to bear. Only enough to make you feel grateful for a warm fire when you find your home and bed.”  
  
“Or when you sit before a fire with friends and have a drink and listen to stories,” Sam breathed. Frodo glanced over at him.  
  
“Are you hinting you're ready for the fire and some beer?” he laughed. Sam smiled, abashed.  
  
“I'm not hinting anything. I like being out here. I like sitting before the fire. I just like being with you,” Sam mused. Frodo felt his breath catch. He stared at Sam, knowing that he wasn't hiding his expression. Sam met his eyes.  
  
There was a cry on the wind and Frodo turned, gasping.  
  
“That will be master Pippin,” Sam said evenly, and made for the farmyard. Frodo jogged after him.  
  
They found an overturned table and a stretch of singed and still smoking dry grass where a lantern had been over turned. One of the Dryhollow sons, gave Frodo a less than friendly look as the gentlehobbit arrived.  
  
“Pippin!” Frodo called sharply. Mrs. Twofoot stepped forward, grasping Pippin by the wrist. She pushed the boy toward Frodo and Frodo took hold of his wrist, pulling his cousin away from the hobbits milling around, trying to set the table to rights.  
  
“I do apologize! Please, let me help with that,” Frodo said. An older farmer only chuckled and waved him off. Mrs. Twofoot fixed Frodo in her gaze. Her dress was stained down the front, dark from a drink that must have been spilled when the table turned over.  
  
“Just because he'll be Thain someday doesn't mean you should let him run wild,” she huffed, turning her ire on Frodo. Frodo stood up straighter and nodded.  
  
“No madam, of course not,” he said.  
  
“He's gone and ruined my dress,” Mrs. Twofoot scolded.  
  
“I'm sure my sisters can get the stain out,” Sam said, breaking in with his soothing contrite tone, “Just bring it by Number Three tomorrow. We'll take care of it.” The matron blinked at him, her irritating draining.  
  
“I would be happy to pay any laundry costs,” Frodo added.  
  
“Thank you kindly Mr. Frodo,” Mrs. Twofoot said, sounding slightly more friendly, “You are a good lad.” Frodo turned to scowl down at Pippin.  
  
“Apologize to Mrs. Twofoot,” he said. Pippin took a breath.  
  
“I'm sorry Mrs. Twofoot. Honest, I didn't mean to turn the table over and spill all those drinks and set the grass on fire.”  
  
“You just be more careful, young Took,” Mrs. Twofoot said and lifted her eyes to Frodo once more, “Have a good evening Mr. Frodo.”  
  
“The same to you, madam,” he said. He turned on Pippin. “What did you do that for?”  
  
“I didn't mean to,” Pippin sniffed. Frodo released his grip on Pippin's wrist and patted the boy on the back.  
  
“I know you didn't. Just try and be more careful in future. You could have started a fire, you know.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Would you like to roast an apple now?” Frodo asked him and Pippin nodded.  
  
“Yes and some cider if there’s any left.”  
  
“I’m sure there is, master Pippin,” Sam said stoutly. They proceeded to fire. The small group of hobbits has dwindled to only about five and they were quiet, standing close to the homebrew kegs, chuckling and telling stories in low voices. Frodo recognized several of them and they tipped their hats to him as he passed. He nodded acknowledgment and smiles when the met his eyes. They settled on a low bench by the fire and Pippin skewered an apple and set about roasting it over the coals. Sam went to get drinks so Frodo sat by Pippin and watched him. The boy looked happy, despite the scolding.  
  
“Isn’t this grand?” he asked softly.  
  
“Surely it’s nothing compared to the festivals in Tookland,” Frodo commented, but Pippin shook his head.  
  
“No, this is better,” he sighed and offered no more, but Frodo thought he understood.  
  
“Here we are,” Sam said as he sat down, holding two mugs of beer in one hand and a mug of cider in the other. He gave the cider to Pippin and passed Frodo a pilsner, taking a sour for himself.  
  
“Thank you Sam,” Frodo said. They sipped in silence and watched Pippin turning his apple. The air was growing colder and glancing around Frodo noticed a thick blanket folded neatly over the back of their bench. He took it and spread it over himself. Pippin moved closer and pulled up the side, slipping under as well. Frodo glanced over at Sam, and offered a corner. Sam took a breath, then with only a little hesitation, took it, and pulled it over his knees.  
  
Frodo sighed, sleepy and content with Pippin’s warm weight against his shoulder and the blanket warm about him. He finished his second beer and began to gingerly lean down to set aside his mug, but Sam offered to take it.  
  
“Would you like another?” he asked softly.  
  
“No, thank you,” Frodo replied, “but certainly have another if you wish.” But Sam shook his head.  
  
“Thank you, sir, but I’ve had my fill. Tis kind of you.” Frodo nodded and gazed into the fire. It was easy to forget the simple pleasure of being before a fire with friends round you when he spent most evenings tucked up in Bag End, either left to his own devices or more often, sitting companionably with Bilbo while they each silently read in the parlor. He reflected that Sam must understand that kind of warm silence, for the boy hadn’t spoken much since they sat down. He too seemed just as content to gaze into the fire, happy to share this evening with friends. It was a rare hobbit that valued silence, at least in Frodo’s experience. Even until a few years ago he suspected Sam would have chattered happily and begged songs and stories from him on an evening like this. But the gardener hadn’t.   
  
He sighed again, and lazily nestled closer to Sam, dropping his head to rest on his shoulder. He didn’t think Sam would take it amiss, and he didn’t. He stayed still and made no comment, as if they were accustom to curling up together like children. Neither, Frodo suspected, would any of the other hobbits gathered by the kegs take much notice of it, and if they did it would only be amusement that Mr. Baggins the younger had drunk enough to make himself sleepy.  
  
And he was sleepy. Perhaps it had been all the trekking he had done that day, or maybe the beer was stronger than he was used to, but whatever the cause he felt himself close to dozing. Coming a little more awake he realized he was leaning heavier on Sam than he meant to. He opened his eyes, thinking to apologize, for his chin had been gouging down into the flesh of Sam’s shoulder. He turned his face up and paused. Sam glanced down at him, a question in his eyes. Frodo's mind went blank and he smiled. Sam smiled in return, as if the two of them were sharing some warm private secret.  
  
Then, Sam tilted his head, only a slight movement, but it brought his cheek down to brush against Frodo’s forehead. It became more than a brush when Frodo didn’t draw back, Sam rubbed his cheek gently against Frodo’s forehead and then turned his face to brush his nose in Frodo’s curls. Frodo felt himself take a quick breath but then Sam was withdrawing and settling back into his former position. Stunned, Frodo lowed his face again, resting it on Sam’s shoulder, staring hard at the ground.  
  
Sam had nuzzled him. Nuzzled him as familiarly as a lad to his lass. And he hadn’t seemed shy about it either, only slightly circumspect, given that they had a potential audience. It was a shock to be sure, but Frodo decided that he didn’t mind it. It had felt nice. He closed his eyes, and sunk deeper into Sam’s side, wrapping an arm around the boy’s back. He felt Sam’s breathing catch.  
  
They sat like that together for a time. Frodo wasn’t sure how long it was, for he may have dozed a bit. When he came back to himself, Pippin was sitting up, rubbing his eyes and Sam was shaking him gently.  
  
“They’re closing up for the night,” Sam murmured.  
  
“Oh. How late it is?” Frodo asked a little confused.  
  
“By the moon I’d say near ten,” Sam replied. Reluctantly Frodo sat up and yawned, shivering.  
  
“I’m cold,” Pippin complained.  
  
“You’ll warm up when we get walking,” Frodo said. He stood and Sam followed his example, stretching a bit. Pippin sat, still bewildered with sleep before slowly hauling himself up. Glancing around, Frodo saw that the other hobbits had left and it was only the farmer and his son, packing away the kegs and dousing the fire. Frodo offered to help, as they had imposed on the family, staying as long as they had, but farmer Dryhollow declined politely.  
  
“Have a safe walk home, masters,” he said, “And please do come back next year.”  
  
“We shall,” Frodo promised as he paid for their drinks and tipped a few extra coins.  
  
He led his party back out to the road, their breaths puffing a bit in the chill air. His shivering wasn’t all due to letting his blood slow, the temperature had dropped during their rest. After a mile or so, he glanced back at Pippin, who was trudging along, still shivering even though they had been walking a good while now. He had not uttered a word since their departure, holding his complaints valiantly back.  
  
“Here lad,” Frodo said, pausing, “climb up on my back. You look half asleep still.” Pippin gazed up at him and offered no protest, though it looked like he wanted to. Frodo bent down and Pippin climbed up, settling his arms round Frodo’s neck until he thoughtfully moved them down to his chest, so as not to choke his cousin. With a little puffing Frodo raised himself back up from his crouch. Pippin wasn’t exactly a little lad anymore, but neither was his weight unmanageable. He turned back to the road and found that Sam was watching him.  
  
“Yes?” he asked, almost irritable, suspecting that Sam thought him silly for offering to carry the child all the way back when he wasn’t accustom to such. It was a fair point, he might have aching arms and back by the nights end. But instead of amusement there was only fondness in Sam’s eyes and in his ready smile.  
  
“It’s naught, sir,” Sam said. Frodo hummed and together they went on. Though their breaths continued to puff in front of them and Frodo couldn’t feel his nose anymore, his back was warm thanks to Pippin.  
  
It took them close to forty minutes to make the walk back and Frodo was more than happy to see the hill rising from around a bend. His feet were frozen and he was aching, as predicted. Sam had offered about half way to take a turn carrying Pippin, but Frodo had stubbornly refused. As they came up to the turn off for Bagshot Row Frodo spoke up.  
  
“Would you come up to the Hill with me? Ah, that is, if you aren’t worn out?” he asked. His voice sounded more nervous than he was accustom and he wondered about that. The request itself was odd as well, for it was late, and by all rights Sam had no business up at the Hill at this hour. He only asked because he didn’t want to give up Sam’s company yet, and though he was sure that much was obvious from his question, he couldn’t yet bring himself to say such a thing plainly. “Help me settle Pippin and warm up at the fire?” Frodo added into the silence.  
  
“Of course, sir. Thank you,” Sam answered, as if it were an easy answer to an invitation to share tea in the garden. They continued up the hill and only paused at the door for Sam to open it at Frodo’s request, as he had no hands free. Together they slipped inside, trying not to make noise, for the smial was dark and quiet. With Pippin still on his back, Frodo went down the hall, careful not to step on the parts of the wood that squeaked. Sam followed him just as skillfully, for he knew the floorboards just as well as Frodo seemingly.  
  
They entered Pippin’s bedroom and stepping to the bedside Frodo at last lowered the boy from his back. Pippin slid down, only waking enough to crawl under the thick quilts.  
  
“Thank you, Frodo,” he murmured and smiled, his eyes already closed, “I had fun.”  
  
“I did too. Good night,” Frodo said quietly. He stood up and turned to see Sam standing at the door, his eyes on Pippin and then moving to Frodo.  
  
“Let’s go to the parlor,” he whispered. Sam nodded and followed him, closing the door behind them silently as they moved into the hall. “That was a bit easier than I guessed,” Frodo murmured, smiling. He caught the white gleam of Sam’s teeth in the dark as he too smiled.  
  
“Ah, the lad were that worn out,” Sam agreed. “It’s not every day he shares in a adventure with his favorite cousin.”  
  
“Favorite cousin?” Frodo scoffed quietly as they moved down the hall, “I like that. Do you know how many cousins that Took has?”  
  
“I’m only telling you what he told me,” Sam said gently.  
  
“What? When?” Frodo asked, caught off guard.  
  
“When you went to the privy. I asked the young master if he was satisfied with Bywater’s little seasonal fancies.”  
  
“Oh. I see,” Frodo said and felt a little abashed. Sam had been paying him a compliment, using Pippin’s words, but paying him a compliment all the same. He ought to be articulate enough to show he appreciated such, but he wasn’t. Not this evening, anyway.  
  
As they entered the parlor, Frodo spotted a bottle set out on the table. _Odd,_ he thought until he drew nearer and recognized it as one of the jugs the Tooks used for whiskey. He laughed and earned a puzzled look from Sam.  
  
“Oh, Uncle Paladin’s reward,” he gestured, “he promised me a bottle of whiskey if I could return Pippin without him getting into too much trouble.” Sam snorted and went to the fire grate, laying a bit of wood from the box and stirring the softly glowing coals. Frodo paused, watching him. “Would you share a glass with me?” he asked. Sam turned at that and gave him a thoughtful look.  
  
“If it come from your uncle I’d guess its fine. Too fine for me.”  
  
“You earned it just as much as I did,” Frodo said easily, but there was still hesitancy in Sam’s face. He quieted a moment then added, “I want to share it with you.” That hung in the air between them for a moment until Sam nodded.  
  
“If you wish it,” he said and turned back to the grate. The wood has caught and was working into a nice cracking fire. Frodo stepped to the sideboard and turned two small glasses over, taking them to the low table by the fire and set them down. He kept his eyes away from Sam, focusing on uncorking the bottle. When it came loose and he had poured a bit into each glass, Frodo sat down on the settled and re-corked the bottle. The settle had been pulled closer to the fire than usual. Bilbo must have been cold and shifted it. Frodo was glad. His nose wasn’t icy anymore and his toes were tingling for being so near a warm fire.  
  
In front of the table Sam sat, motionless and watching the fire, as if afraid it would lose its way without him beside it. _So he's nervous too,_ Frodo thought. There was something new between them, and that was cause enough for stillness and caution. Neither had any experience with anything new between them. Finally, Sam stirred and turned to see Frodo waiting and he rose, moving to sit beside him on the low settle. He took his drink.  
  
“Thank you, sir,” he said in a low whisper, as he sipped. His eyes slid shut and he tasted the liquor with evident pleasure.  
  
“Good?” Frodo asked quietly.  
  
“Yes,” Sam whispered back. “The Tooks know their whiskey.”  
  
“They do,” Frodo agreed. There was silence again. Frodo took a breath and spoke, “A fire before us and a good drink to hand. I think we’ve been here before.” Sam stilled but Frodo didn’t go on, he didn’t add anything that might let his words be taken lightly. Sam leaned forward and set his glass on the table, his hands shaking just a little as he did. _Oh poor thing,_ Frodo thought, unhappily, _I’m making this difficult for him_. “I may have a blanket about somewhere, should you want to share one again,” Frodo heard himself saying, “if you’re cold.” He felt his cheeks go hot. It was the clumsiest line he had used in ten years at least. Sam turned then and leaned back against the settle, studying him. “Oh, don’t mind me,” Frodo sighed, his courage breaking. He took a sip of whiskey and set his empty glass on the table, wondering what he could say to ease their conversation back into more familiar territory. He felt the settle shift and glanced up to see Sam reaching toward him.  
  
Sam leaned close and set a warm palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek and peering at him, searchingly.  
  
Frodo sat very still, almost ridged, breathing in short quick breaths. No lad had ever touched him like that. And though, it was true he had been trying to kindle something like this, the shock of it froze him. Sam pulled his hand away, but his eyes didn’t lose their heat.  
  
“Have I disgraced myself?” he asked softly.  
  
“No,” Frodo answered quickly, his voice low and quiet. Sam took several breaths, looking as if he were steeling himself.  
  
“I may yet,” he breathed and clenched his fists into the settle.  
  
“Eh?” Frodo murmured, caught in the spell of watching Sam lean close again. His mouth touched Sam’s and Sam shifted until their lips fit together a little better. Frodo pulled back in slight startle when he felt Sam’s tongue slip between his lips. Sam’s eyes met his, unsure, and Frodo moved forward again, abashed that he should be kissing more like a boy of fifteen than a lad of thirty. He tilted his head and took Sam’s mouth.  
  
He had never thought of himself as one who might sport with a lad, much less bed a lad, but the notion was becoming more and more appealing. He sighed, deeply warmed from the kiss, leaning back to gaze at Sam, who hovered close, breathing quickly.  
  
“Let me assure you, you shan’t disgrace yourself,” Frodo whispered, “no matter what might pass between us this night.” Sam tucked his bottom lip under his teeth and flushed. Oh that was a fine sight, Frodo thought, feeling his prick stir. He leaned forward and tangled his fingers in Sam’s curls. The other’s eyes grew wide at this and when Frodo brought his hand down to brush against his ear tip Sam shivered and his breathing hitched.  
  
“Oh, sir,” Sam bit back on any others words escaping and stared, his breath still coming quickly. Frodo withdrew his hand, smiling a little, waiting. When Sam didn’t move but only stared and gulped air, Frodo cocked his head.  
  
“Dear Sam, whatever is the matter?” he asked softly. Sam swallowed, giving him a close look.  
  
“I never thought you would want to do this,” he said shyly, “It’s just taken me by surprise.” Frodo stretched a little, affecting nonchalance.  
  
“I’m not a stone,” he said. Sam’s mouth quirked into a smile.  
  
“Eh, I know,” he murmured.  
  
“You’re not disappointed in me, for wanting to fool about, are you?” Frodo asked him gently. He knew Sam regarded him with awe in some sense and if Sam were prudish this sudden carnal interest might make him reconsider that regard. But Sam shook his head.  
  
“Nay,” he assured, “tis pleasing to think you want to…”  
  
“I do,” Frodo murmured and slipped his arms around Sam once more. “Anyway, I offered you a warm up by the fire did I not?” Sam snorted, smothering a laugh against Frodo’s mouth as he accepted the deeper kiss thrust on him. He tasted of whiskey and something slightly fruity- either apple or some kind of pipeweed, Frodo decided. He was finding it a heady mix.  
  
He had intended to kiss and play a bit, not wanting to alter their relationship too much in one night, but arousal was creeping up from the pit of his belly, flushing his skin and sending his heart pounding. Sam too seemed affected for when they paused his eyes were dark and Frodo found himself spellbound. Desire and tension grew in him until Sam only had to lean forward again an brush his lips against Frodo's, trying to tease him back into a kiss, and it sent a bolt straight to his cock. Just that quick he crossed into full arousal and he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had Sam on his back. He growled into the kiss and pressed him backwards, trying to achieve his goal. Sam moaned softly and pressed back, seeming to enjoy the struggle. Their kisses were growing less controlled and more frantic.  
  
The sound of a door closing broke them from their kiss and Sam shot back, putting a good three ells between them. Frodo caught his breath against the almost painful parting. Shaking, he turned to peer over the back of the couch, fully expecting to see Bilbo or worse Aunt Eglantine blinking sleepily at them. But the parlor entry was empty and there was no more sound from the hall. Probably just someone going back to their room after using the privy then.  
  
He turned back to Sam, hoping he would be amiable to their continuing but Sam was pale, probably remembering that while he kissed and necked in the parlor with the young master, the Thain of all the Shire slept not two doors down; not to mention the Master of Bag End, three doors down.  
  
“Samwise,” he whispered, “would you like to go to my room?” Sam froze, staring wide eyed for an agonizing moment then nodded, a flush so deep coming into his face that Frodo could see it in the dim light. He rose, leading the way. Behind him, Sam banked the fire quickly and lit a candle to carry with them. They passed into the hall and went down to Frodo’s door. He opened it with care but it still squeaked. He winced and Sam looked askance at the thing as they pass through. Frodo closed it quickly behind them and felt for the lock. He didn’t often lock his door but he wasn’t taking the chance of Pippin wandering in later to find them in a tangle.  
  
The room was icy with no fire, though wood had been laid for one. Sam went to the fireplace and struck a match to light it. Frodo took the candle to the bedside, using it to light the pair of lamps he kept on each side. That was better, he thought. He felt a bit self-conscious about his room, hoping that to Sam it seemed a sensual den, rather than the slightly cluttered and still very chilly bedroom of a bachelor.  
  
Sam roused the small crackling pile into a strong fire. He stood and moved back, gauging his work and grunted softly in satisfaction. Frodo watched him, warmed by more than the fledgling fire. It had been a long time since he had taken anyone to bed and the sight of this sweet handsome boy in his room, ready to lay with him was thrilling. Sam turned to him and seeing himself watched, smiled bashfully and went to the bedside drawing near. Frodo eased. Bedding a boy might be outlandish, but laying down with a friend as well-loved as Sam was not. He gave him a fond smile and stepped closer, taking Sam’s wide hand in his own.  
  
“Thank you for building the fire,” Frodo murmured. Pressing his thumb to Sam’s palm and rubbing gently.  
  
“Glad to,” Sam whispered. Frodo smiled, cheered.  
  
“You needn’t whisper. The walls are thick. No one will hear us unless we get very rowdy.” Sam chuckled, his voice becoming softly audible.  
  
“How rowdy are you usually in situations like this?”  
  
“Ah,” Frodo said with a quiet smile. “To be honest- most seem to think me rather tame in bed. Bringing you here is about the wildest I’ve been in some time.”  
  
“Well, if what we were doing in the parlor was anything to go by,” Sam said, “I thought it very fine, and it weren’t what I’d call tame.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear that,” Frodo said thoughtfully and glanced up, meeting Sam’s eyes, watching him for a moment.  
  
“What is it?” Sam asked anxious.  
  
“You’re really alright with this? Going to bed and all?” Frodo asked.  
  
“Yes,” Sam said softly, looking at him seriously, “I see no harm in it. And I’d like to.” He paused, “And you?” Frodo took a breath.  
  
“Yes, I’d like to,” he said, “very much so.” They paused a moment, the silence on the edge of becoming awkward when Sam stepped closer and put an arm around his back, the unsure expression surfacing in his face again. Frodo sighed and despite his desire to take hold of Sam himself, he melted into the embrace. It felt wonderful to be pulled close to that warm solid figure, their bellies and chests pressed together. Propriety demanded he keep his hips back and he succeeded but only just so. Sam brought his hands up and loosed Frodo's silk cravat and unfastened the hated stiff collar at his neck. Frodo shivered at this.  
  
“That better?” Sam asked softly, his eyes dark and a slight smile on his lips. He pulled the starched collar away and set it aside on the bedside table along with the cravat.  
  
“Yes,” Frodo breathed. Sam’s hands returned to his shoulders, kneading there.  
  
“I don’t envy you them collars,” Sam murmured.  
  
“No, they’re ghastly uncomfortable things,” Frodo said trying to keep his voice strong, but it still sounded stained and breathless to his ears.   
  
“They do make you look very fine,” Sam said, “You want the truth of it: when you’re decked out in full like you were today for the Tooks, well, to see you like that turns me bones to jelly.” He took a breath, “and when you look at me,” he paused and leaned close, as if he were going to whisper the rest. Instead he dipped his face down to kiss along the side of Frodo’s now bare neck.  
  
“Sam,” Frodo breathed and clutched at him.  
  
“When you look at me in your fine vests and coats and ties, sometimes, me prick goes harder'an a grindstone.”  
  
“Oh,” Frodo gasped, a hot flush rolling up his cheeks. He had never been spoken to like this and he found it incredibly arousing. “I didn’t know,” he said through the fog. His eyelids were fluttering in a disconcerting way, especially when Sam did… Oh, that was nice.  
  
“Tonight you were so handsome and smelling of fresh hay. Imagine, a fine dressed gentlehobbit who smells of sweet hay. Lor’ I wanted to take you to a quiet corner and kiss you.”  
  
“I don’t think I would have minded,” Frodo said and pulled Sam’s head back up to kiss him. If he didn’t stop those kisses he would lose what little control he had. “Fresh hay?” he said, drawing back and gaining a little more coherence without Sam’s mouth at his neck, “that scent has an amorous connexion for you, does it?” To his shock, Sam blushed. So much for all that bold talk. “Don’t take on so,” Frodo told him, “you’re not the only one to have taken a tumble in a hay loft.” Sam’s smile returned. “And you’re not the only one to have been so affected tonight,” he added. Sam blinked and in the next moment pressed their hips together. Frodo took a breath of air and held it, paralyzed by the unexpected pleasure of feeling a hard cock against the front of his thighs.  
  
“Oh,” Frodo breathed.  
  
“That for me?” Sam asked, wonderingly.  
  
“Yes of course,” Frodo said in a strained voice, gritting his teeth against the urge to rub himself against Sam’s front. Taking a breath he reign in his slipping control once more, “I said didn’t I that you weren’t the only one to… Oh well.”  
  
“Would you tell me?” Sam pleaded gently.  
  
“It’s only that I also thought you very handsome in the maze,” he took a breath, “I've often thought you handsome.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yes,” Frodo murmured, shivering as Sam began to slowly rub their fronts together. Frodo took a breath then another, then pulled his body away and stepped backward. He met Sam's eyes and slowly drew his hands up to his shirt buttons, unfastening first the top button, then worked his way down, noting as he did so Sam's breathing grow heavier, despite his best efforts to be restrained and well mannered. With his shirt hanging open he closed the distance between them once more and took Sam's hands in his own. The cool air in the room was making his shiver and his nipples rose, rubbing ticklishly against the shifting fabric of his shirt.  
  
He pulled Sam's hands up and brought them to his bare skin. Sam took over, caressing him, his hands running over his ribs and down to his stomach and then, as Frodo guided Sam's right hand upward, to pause and rub a thumb over his nipple. Frodo felt his lower muscles tighten in arousal at the sensation. He eased his hand down and fit his palm between Sam's legs. Sam straightened going ridged, taking short excited breaths. Frodo brushed a kiss against his lips and began to slowly massage him. Sam's eyes closed.  
  
“Is that good?” Frodo murmured in his ear.  
  
“Yes,” Sam said tightly.  
  
“Is this what you wanted me to do in the maze?” Frodo asked softly. “I saw you watching me peel that corn. And I saw you blush when I was rubbing my hand down it, taking the silks off.”  
  
“Eh well,” Sam mumbled.  
  
“Go on, I shan't think you naughty. You were thinking of this, weren't you?”  
  
“This? No,” Sam laughed softly, “I'd not dreamed you'd do this.”  
  
“Oh? What were you thinking of then?” Frodo pressed his thumb firmly into the pulsing length in his hand.  
  
“Ah, n-naught,” Sam whispered through clenched teeth. “Just, how you might... ah... oh, you know.”  
  
“I don't know. Go on,” Frodo wheedled, smiling.  
  
“Oh, sure you do,” Sam hissed and set his legs wider apart.  
  
“Tell me, please? Don't get shy. You were just telling my about how wonderfully hard you get when I wear my fancy clothes.”  
  
“Eh,” Sam chuckled, “Tis one thing to speak on meself that way. Seems a might different to be speaking on you that way.”  
  
“I don't mind it,” Frodo assured him. “Please feel free to use any sort of language you like.” Frodo unlaced the ties for Sam's breeks and slipped his hand inside.  
  
“Glory,” Sam hissed.  
  
“So, what were you thinking?” Frodo asked, shifting closer to kiss Sam's neck. Sam let out a nervous chuckle and paused for a moment.  
  
“I were thinking how you might rub yourself,” Sam murmured. Frodo drew back, startled. Sam winced, his ear tips pinking up. “Sorry!” Frodo snorted and fell against him, laughing.  
  
“Don’t apologize.”  
  
“Em,” Sam murmured, his arms coming up to rest on Frodo’s shoulders. Frodo lifted his head and caught Sam in a quick kiss before drawing away and making for the bed, pulling Sam along with him.  
  
Laughing and shushing one another, they climbed into bed, shedding clothing. There was a slightly graceless scramble and Frodo found himself lying over Sam. He gazed down, feeling flushed at the sight that met him. Sam looked up at him, and at this close range he became very aware of just how brown Sam's eyes were. _What a lovely color,_ he thought as he bent and rubbed his nose against Sam's, letting their mouths draw together once more.   
  
Outside, the wind picked up, whistling through the trees and rattling the shutters. Frodo shivered and drew the covers over them, pressing himself to Sam’s warm body. Sam reached up, locking them together, as Frodo bent and kissed him.  
  
The minutes slid by as they developed a rhythm of gasps, whispered endearments, and soft groans. Sam's grip on him tightened and he gave a stifled cry as he came, his face flushing. Frodo gasped and thrust against him, tipping over the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut and stayed silent as he rode the crest of bliss pulsing between his legs. He gasped for breath, and opened his eyes to find Sam watching him with awe in his face. They stared at one another, speechless. Slowly Frodo lowered himself, fitting his face into the curve of Sam’s neck. Sam let out a soft sigh of contentment. They stayed like that for a minute or so, until Frodo rolled off Sam to find a more comfortable position at his side. He opened his eyes and found Sam was watching him. He was smiling, almost grinning.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Sorry. I just can’t stop smiling.”  
  
“Hm,” Frodo snorted, languidly pulling the coverlet over himself, “good.” Sam chuckled and rolled over, retrieving his pants from the floor.  
  
“You needn’t rush off,” Frodo told him gently. Sam turned and blinked at him. His expression softened.  
  
“Thank you,” he said quietly. He let the pants drop back to the floor, only removing a handkerchief, which he used to tidy himself. Then he slid back into bed, turning to face Frodo.  
  
“That was very nice, wasn’t it?” Frodo asked him, putting an arm around Sam’s shoulder.  
  
“Very nice,” Sam agreed. “I’m glad I decided to go out with you all.”  
  
“Me too," Frodo said easily. He paused, adding, "whatever made you decide to flirt with me tonight?” Sam peered at him through half closed eyes. “You _were_ flirting with me, Sam. I'm dense so it took me a while to catch on, but don't deny it.” Sam smiled.  
  
“I just decided to take a chance and try it. It was fun and I didn't think you'd get angry at me. Though, I hardly dreamed you'd flirt back.”  
  
“I'm afraid I'm very clumsy at flirting. I'm sorry you had to endure it.”  
  
“I liked it just fine.”  
  
He leaned closer and pulled Sam into a fuller embrace. Sam sighed in contentment. The warmth of their bodies pressed together was pleasant and cozy. Frodo watched the soft firelight dance across the ceiling.  
  
“What a perfect way to spend an autumn night,” he breathed. He felt Sam smile against his shoulder.  
  
“I wonder if it’s also the perfect way to spend a winter night?” Sam murmured. Frodo chuckled.  
  
“Would you like to try it out?”  
  
“Aye. I would at that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [YamBits.tumblr](https://yambits.tumblr.com)


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